


Two A.M.

by dewekbwankies (suicidalzombie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Stiles, M/M, Mountain Man Derek, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles In A Dead-End Job, The Hale Fire, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicidalzombie/pseuds/dewekbwankies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles works the late shift at a convenience store so far out of town that he can count on one hand how many regulars there are. He recognises the surly man who comes in a few times a week always at 2 A.M. Out of boredom (and maybe curiosity) Stiles tries to get to know him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the greatest wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more.

**Author's Note:**

> # ON HIATUS: mom has cancer.
> 
> Rating will likely change to Mature as the chapters go on. Chapter 1 title is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
> 
> Beta work by the following amazing people Eczilon and geckoholic <3

**(Stiles.)**  
  
  
A thunderstorm cuts out the cable but the power stays on, if you don’t count the lights doing that horror-movie type flickering. Stiles isn’t sure if that’s just the shitty electrical job or the storm itself. He turns the television off and grabs his cell phone out of habit before remembering the other downside to this job: no cell reception. No 3G, no 4G and don’t even think about LTE. No signal at all.

Stiles knew he could pass his shift by reading magazines, or maybe pick up a smoking habit and use that as an excuse to sit out front the store, but it’s one thirty in the morning and he’s not sitting outside unless he has to. He’s more worried about being mauled by a mountain lion than he is about being robbed. The store is as clean as it will ever be without inviting in a cleaning crew to deep clean the entire place, and he isn’t one to just mindlessly sweep or start re-arranging the shelves. He knows from experience that distraction would set in and he would abandon the task, leaving the store looking worse than when he first started.

He pockets his cell phone and pulls his hoodie back on as a chill sets in. Rain begins to batter the windows he checks the back door in the storage room to make sure the alarm is set and that it’s secure. He’s about to drag a box of soda bottles out to re-stock one of the freezers when he hears the strangled sound of the alarm over the front doors, alerting him to a customer.

Wiping his hands, he heads back out to the store to greet the customer only to stop just in the doorway. It’s one of the regulars that comes in and there aren’t that many so Stiles remembers his face and the way he dresses. Sometimes he will come in with a v-neck, leather jacket and jeans, all in black but then there are the other days where he comes in with a dated light brown sheepskin jacket, with white lambs wool lining, ripped jeans that have mud and what Stiles hopes isn’t animal blood on them. He always wears the same black boots though.

It also helps that he has one of those model-faces and sometimes Stiles wonders why the hell he isn’t out in LA scouting modelling work rather than living out in the woods. At least, that’s what Stiles assumes. No one comes through here so regularly unless they’re living in one of the few houses that dot the highway, set so far back from the road that you wouldn’t really know they were there unless you squinted through the tree line. When the guy comes with his jeans and boots mud and leaf-covered, it makes Stiles think that he’s gone for a midnight hike beforehand.

The man catches Stiles’ eye before going about picking up his usuals: some canned things, ramen (only in ‘mushroom’ flavour, Stiles sometimes wants to tell him about mixing flavour packets to create the perfect ramen), and then there are the jugs of spring water, a case of beer and some beef jerky. Never a magazine, never any soda and definitely no junk food. The one time Stiles saw him without his leather jacket, he has to wonder how the man keeps a figure like *that* with a diet of ramen, beer and beef jerky. He never asks though.

As the man works his way through the store, grabbing what he needs and bringing it up to the counter before going back for more items. It perplexes Stiles who goes back behind the counter and just watches until the counter starts to fill up and there’s no room to set anything else down. He starts ringing in the man’s purchases and bagging the items without even asking. It’s become habit for the while three months that Stiles has had this job.

Even if Stiles finds the man’s system a bit weird, he can’t question things. It was his first week at this job when the man came in at two in the morning. After that it was three times a week -Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the days Stiles works- at the same time right on the nose, that the man comes in to do his shopping. Stiles still doesn’t know the man’s name, though Stiles’ own name tag gives his away immediately.

“And gas,” the man says, startling Stiles as he looks up from where he’s ringing things in and they look at each other in silence before the man speaks again. “Pump number three - I filled the tank.” He speaks slowly, as if Stiles were stupid.

“Right,” Stiles murmurs, checking the screen which showed each pump, and rang in the amount listed before hitting the button for a receipt and giving the man his total. It’s paid in cash, small bills, so Stiles has to count all of them out before he can put it in the till and give back change. “Need any help—“ He trails off as he realises the guy left quietly and Stiles holds the change in his hand as he watches through rain-soaked windows. He’s carrying two jugs of water and the four plastic bags of his purchases out to a black Camaro, paying no mind to the rain that is likely soaking him through. 

“Guess not,” Stiles says to himself, dumping the change in his otherwise empty tip cup and watches until the man starts up his car and drives away.

 

Stiles finishes his shift without a problem and when the morning guy comes in to take over, Stiles leaves with a cup of crappy coffee from the self-serve machine and his ‘tips’, which were all thanks to the change left behind from the Mountain Man, which Stiles has now dubbed his 2 AM regular. The storm passed through a half hour ago but the clouds still gather in the distance, hanging over Beacon Hills, and Stiles is tempted to drive slow so he doesn’t get caught up in the storm a second time.

He’s about to head towards where he parked his Jeep when he sees something black and square sitting on the ground by the third gas pump. Stiles goes over to see what the object is, bending to pick it up only to find it is a worn leather wallet, wet from the puddle it was laying in. When he opens it up, a driver’s license is the first thing he see and the picture matched his supposed ‘Mountain Man’.

The Mountain Man whose name was actually Derek Hale.

Stiles pockets the wallet before jogging towards his Jeep and getting in. He drives as fast as he legally can back home to Beacon Hills. He knows the Hale name but only vaguely, and he wants to be sure he’s thinking of the right Hale. The internet would definitely help him with that, and maybe some newspaper archives at the library.

 

* * *

When Stiles arrives home, the storm is in full swing again and he is careful to be quiet coming into the house. His sneakers squeak from the wet jog from his car to the house and he carefully takes them off, laying them over the air vent to dry. He doesn’t want to wake his dad up and explain why he isn’t crashing like he normally does when he comes home from a shift. He knows his dad well enough that if he knew his son was looking for information on one of the Hales, it would inevitably lead to trouble.

When Stiles gets upstairs, he closes his bedroom door softly and pulls off his wet socks before practically diving onto his desk chair, upsetting a few empty cans of soda that are in a soda can pyramid on his desk. He lifts the lid to his MacBook and wiggles his leg impatiently as he waits for the computer to wake up from sleep mode. The second the Mac Finder and the bottom dock fully loan, Stiles clicks on his browser and pulls up his favourite search engine.

Derek Hale, Beacon Hills he types, hitting ‘enter’ and sitting back to wait as the search ran. Multiple results come up, from old news articles about Derek Hale and some sports teams he had been on in high school, to articles about the Hale fire. Stiles choses the first ten on the page, shift-clicking the links to open them into another browser tab. He leaves the tab with his search results open in case he needs more.

Most of the pages were about the fire that had happened some years ago - at the Hale estate, that lay in the Beacon Hills Preserve as a burned-out shell of a home. Sometimes teenagers would tramp through there on a dare, upsetting the resting ground of too many casualties. It makes Stiles feel funny, empty inside, whenever he would go to school and hear someone bragging about how they had spent the night or had a party at the Hale estate. He never said anything - it wasn’t his business, for one, and he didn’t want to make himself a walking target if his dad caught those same people and they assumed he was a snitch (which he wasn’t).

The more Stiles reads, the darker and more gruesome the news articles get, as if each news station and newspaper in the county had to one-up one another. By the time Stiles is five or six articles in, he has found photos of the charred bodies of Derek’s family that someone had leaked, having taken them in the basement of the Hale estate and it makes his stomach clench.

Stiles slams his laptop lid shut in frustration and pulls Derek’s wallet from his pocket, looking at the photo closely. Derek looks as if he were going to murder someone for taking his photo and his head is tilted, eyes not making contact with the camera flash - it was a last minute movement, and Derek would have only gotten away with it if the photographer was rushed and not wanting to give Derek a re-take. Stiles can’t help but become more and more interested in Derek the more he looks at the ID photo, and remembering the ones he saw from the news articles: Derek at age 14, 15 and then 16 - slowly filling out from a gangly kid to a muscular teenager. According to his stats from a short stint on the lacrosse team, he would’ve made Jackson Whittemore jealous.

In all the times Stiles had seen Derek come into his store, he had never noticed how green the man’s eyes were, or the fact that his stubble never seemed to change - as if he practiced keeping his stubble the exact same every time he shaved or trimmed. Or maybe it just never grows, Stiles thinks to himself.

Derek’s skin is pale but in the photos from the news articles, both Derek and his sister have the same skin tone, which is strange for Derek since it’s obvious he spends a lot of time outside, between practicing for the teams he was on and working out (one article mentioned that along with swimming, Derek enjoyed running and jogging as means to blow off excess energy during the season’s downtime). Stiles wonders if maybe it is a Hale trait: dark haired, dour expression and thick eyebrows to match the hair. The lips were tight, as if he were perpetually angry and his eyes made Stiles feel cold inside.

He couldn’t help but take a photo of Derek’s ID with his cell phone before closing the wallet. The ID had an address on it and he was tempted to drive up to wherever it was Derek was living now and return the wallet but at the same time that was likely creepy. Maybe Derek knew it was missing and would come back to the store when Stiles was on shift, and he could give it back. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

 

* * *

The convenience store gets held up a week later so Stiles’ shifts are put on hold while the store has repairs done and the police investigation closes. When he finally returns, he’s a bit nervous even though the owner told him that there is a gun hidden under the till. There is an emergency button on the back of the counter now, so he can press it to alert the cops. Even the door alarms have been replaced and when the first customer comes in they startle him, because he isn’t expecting them to be that loud.

Stiles has Derek’s wallet in his back pocket, nestled against his own. He isn’t really expecting the man to show up but when two am rolls around, he looks out the window and sees the black Camaro come out of the shadows, pulling up in front of pump number three. He watches as Derek fills the tank then comes inside, only instead of going to gather his things, he comes straight to the counter, looking Sties right in the eye.

“I lost my wallet here,” he says, and Stiles feels sweat forming at the base of his spine. He isn’t sure why but Derek suddenly makes him nervous.

“Yeah uh.. you uh, left it the night of the storm,” Stiles fumbles, standing up from his stool and knocking it over with a loud clatter. Derek barely flinches and simply watches Stiles as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out the man’s wallet, setting it on the counter between them. “I was going to bring it back but the store was closed---“

“Thank you,” Derek says softly, opening the wallet and flipping through it, not looking for money like Stiles would’ve thought, or even his credit card, but a photo - of what Stiles presumed was a young Derek with his family. For a moment Stiles felt a sharp pang in his chest and he inhaled sharply, making Derek look up at him again.

He fixes Stiles with an intense look before pocketing the wallet and pulling out a makeshift billfold made of a piece of cardboard and a rubber hand, counting out 40$ which he set on the counter. “That’s for the gas,” he said before turning around and starting to move around the store to gather his usuals, like clockwork.

A few times Stiles catches Derek watching him in the security mirrors and their eyes meet. Stiles holds his gave for a moment, before it suddenly becomes very important to re-arrange packages of cigarettes and the plastic containers of beef jerky.

When he senses Derek coming up to the counter, Stiles goes back to the till, ringing things in and keeping quiet. He’s nervous now, more nervous than usual out here and finally he can’t help it anymore.

“Are you the same Derek Hale from Beacon Hills?” he blurts out, even though there is no mistaking the name, for one, and secondly, Derek’s photo had been in the paper following that story and he had the kind of look you didn’t forget.

There’s silence on Derek’s end, as if he’s either contemplating whether or not to admit to it, or what he should even say. “Yes,” he says finally, and judging by the tone of voice he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation further so Stiles changes it up.

“You know,” Stiles began, as he bagged the multiple mushroom-flavoured ramen. “If you buy shrimp flavour and beef flavour and mix the two flavour packages with the beef it comes out pretty awesome. Sometimes I throw in seasoning salt and this garlic and herb spice mix my best friend’s mom told me about…”

Stiles is aware that he is rambling and when he looks up from bagging everything but the water jugs, Derek is watching him and looking oddly amused. “You know a lot about ramen,” he smirks.

“Duh. It’s a teenagers staple food all the way through college. Just because it’s cheap and made from crap and really isn’t good for you, doesn’t mean you can’t dress it up a bit,” Stiles protested, and he comes out from around the counter and heads down the aisle that the ramen was in, grabbing a few packages of beef and shrimp flavour before coming back to the till. “Try it, and if you don’t like it, then I’ll try something weird that you like,” he wagered, ringing the Ramen in separately after he gave Derek his change back. He used his own money to pay for the packages and dropped them in with Derek’s things.

“Okay,” Derek said slowly, and he took the bags on one arm, balancing a jug of water in the other arm and carrying the second in his hand by the plastic handle near it’s lid. “But if I hate it - you’re not going to love anything I like.”

“You buy ramen every week,” Stiles pointed out. “If you actually eat anything else I’ll be really surprised.”

Derek just smirked again, turning to leave and using his back to open the door to the store. Stiles watches as Derek carries his things to the car, setting the water jugs down and putting the bags of groceries on the front seat and the water jugs on the floor in front of the front passenger seat. He glances up at Stiles as he goes around to the driver’s side, resting one hand on the roof of the Camaro before ducking in, starting up the car and seconds later he’s gone, driving off into the darkness and leaving Stiles to his empty store.

* * *

Stiles can’t help but startle when he comes in from checking the gas pumps on his next shift and sees Derek in the store. He actually pauses in the doorway, looking behind him at dimly lit parking lot but he doesn’t see the Camaro anywhere.

"Okay, Ghost from Summers Past," Stiles jokes, making his way behind the counter and trying to push down the brief spike of anxiety in his stomach. He hates being caught off-guard, especially after the store was shot at a week ago. “Where’s the Camaro?”

“I’m not a ghost,” Derek tells him, and he’s taking his time at the drinks freezer before picking out one of the overpriced Vitamin Water bottles. “And I wanted to go for a run.”

Stiles is leaning his elbows on the counter, resting his chin in his hands as he watches Derek. “Really,” Stiles drawls. “All the way here.”

“I didn’t feel like driving,” Derek says, bringing the Vitamin Water to the counter. He doesn’t set down anything else so after a few moments Stiles rings it in. “Your ramen trick wasn’t bad.”

Stiles has almost forgotten about that. He can’t help but look a bit smug as he takes Derek’s money and makes change for the five he was given. “I hate to say I told you so but - no wait, I don’t.”

“I guess this means I owe you,” Derek says, dumping his change in the tip cup that Stiles has taken to drawing on in his spare time. “You won’t like my favourite thing,” he warns, thinking of how half of his favourite ‘dishes’ include raw meat (if it was red meat) and a myriad of spices. He doesn’t have anyone else to cook for so he tends to just cook whatever he feels like having and sometimes, he goes out and hunts his own rather than go to the deli. It's killing two birds with one stone: he can go for a run, chase down his dinner and have it for free, instead of the prices meat went for now.

“Are you kidding me? I’ll eat anything,” Stiles tells him.

“Anything?” Derek echoes, lifting an eyebrow.

“Anything,” Stiles repeats. “Except sushi. I hate fish.”

Derek is quiet for a few moments, thinking. His sense of time is off most days and he never really knows what day of the week it is until he does his shopping and Stiles is there - his own hyperactive, chatty calendar. “You work in two days…?”

“Yeah, and then I’m off the weekend. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Weekends, Tuesdays and Thursdays off,” Stiles recites, checking the phone on his calendar just to be sure.

Derek nods. “I’ll bring something in the next time you’re on shift, and I won’t scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me--“ Stiles protests but Derek is already heading for the door, though he does pause on his way out.

“I could hear your heart rate spiking,” Derek tells him, and then he's gone, leaving Stiles gaping and wondering how in the hell Derek could hear his heart beat. For a few minutes afterwards he actually sits there, trying to make his heart race to see if he can hear it himself, before realizing it's a stupid idea - that he would hear it in his ears anyway because of the way blood pumped through his body.

 

On Friday, Stiles isn't really expecting Derek to come back, so when the Camaro pulls up - this time out front of the store - Stiles is actually busy. New stock had come in but it was late, so rather than letting day shift take care of it, they left it for Stiles to do alone. He really doesn’t notice Derek so when he comes into the store with a tupperware container, Stiles finishes stocking the rest of the shelves near the back of the store before looking up. Somehow he missed the alarm going off on the door when Derek came in and he apologises as he jogs up to the counter. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” Stiles explains. Derek just sets a Tupperware container down and pushes it across the counter to Stiles.

“Here. I eat my meat raw but I cooked it a bit for you,” he explains and Stiles, ever the curious one, pries off the tupperware lid to see meat with what looks like a bit of everything from the spice rack on top, and a few potatoes surrounding the meat.

“You actually cooked me dinner?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“I told you I’d make you eat something I like,” Derek reminds him.

Stiles closes the container again, getting up to put it into the staff fridge in back so it doesn't spoil. “Yeah but I thought you would come up with some weird food combination, not meat and potatoes. That’s like a home-cooked meal,” he continues, when he comes back from the staff room. “You didn’t have to.”

Now Derek looks uncomfortable, like maybe he went too far in this whole sharing thing. “I hunted it down and had extra meat leftover,” he explains, and that only makes Stiles grin more.

“Careful, I might just fall for you if you keep being like that,” he jokes, grabbing a soda from the freezer before settling back behind the counter.

That apparently was the wrong thing to say because Derek doesn’t just look uncomfortable now, he looks ready to bolt. If ever there was a deer caught in headlights look - Derek has it on his face, right now. 

“It’s a hobby,” he finally says and jingles his keys around in the pocket of his jacket, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get into his car and leave. The way Stiles makes him react from his teasing…

“I should go,” Derek adds, and before Stiles can protest he’s playing the ghost card and disappearing silently. He drives faster than the speed limit allows and doesn’t look into the rearview until he’s pulling up to his home. Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

 _Shit,_ he thinks, gripping the steering wheel tightly.


	2. it's so dangerous, you'll have to sign a waiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries his hand at avoidance and fails miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow update. I’m still figuring out where I want this to go. I’m not a big planner but I’m really trying.
> 
> I wrote this in Derek’s POV, reflecting on his history with Kate, his meeting with Stiles and leading up to his realisation that there might be something there beyond just customer/cashier friendship. Please read end notes before commenting on this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> **Trigger warning for somewhat graphic description of the Hale fire aftermath. If you, like me, have survived a house fire and find this triggering PLEASE SKIP. I had trouble writing this but it sort of came out like word vomit, so it’s staying. Please heed warnings.**

**(Derek.)**  
  
  
Beacon _Hills, 2005_

As she watched from the shadowed porch of the bar, the neon light casting pastels over Derek like a lightly woven blanket, he got on his motorcycle, kicked it, and zoomed out onto the street.

Weighing various possibilities, she waited until he was out of sight. Then she darted across the street and jumped into her car. She drove after him, maintaining a safe distance as she followed him through the city of Beacon Hills, then up behind the preserve. The Hale house loomed in the darkness beneath the nearly full moon. Wolf Moon, on Saturday. There were cars everywhere. Full house, that Hale house.

Unwilling to get to close to the house, Kate parked and crept through the trees with a pair of binoculars. She followed Derek’s progress as he entered a door set in the earth beneath the house. That would be the basement, the place where they congregated for special occasions, or used when their young wolf cubs couldn’t control the shift. Shadows were moving around. So the family had moved down there for Wolf Moon. Nice. All she had to do was lock that entrance tight as a drum and throw in a few firebombs. She and her partners would douse the house proper, and ensure that all the Hales—werewolves or not—were taken care of.

Kate waited for a while to see if Derek raised some kind of alarm, which would indicate that he had found something in her house that had tipped him off to her plan. But the house and the werewolf den stayed dark.

Kate drove back to her place, body thrumming with the thrill of the chase. It was on. Without realizing it, Derek had thrown down the gauntlet, set the play in motion. If she found anything back at her apartment indicating that Derek knew about her plan, she’d cancel the operation, pack, and leave.

After she parked, she opened the door and hurried inside, to find a note from him on her entry table. 

_Dear Kate,_

_I left my backpack here and you weren’t home. The window in your bedroom was slightly open and I came in that way. I put the screen back and walked out through the front door, but I made sure it was locked. I hope you don’t mind. I won’t do it again. It’s just that all my homework was in the pack._

_Yours, Derek_

She breathed a huge sigh. That had been very careless of her. She took note that he had begun to write Love and changed it to Yours. Sweet, unsure Derek. She was about to free him from his unending teenage angst.

By then, it was almost time for her late-night appointment, the last of her busy night. His name was Garrison Meyers, and he was an arson investigator. Kate’s associates had authorized her to pay him a huge sum of money to declare that the fire at the Hale house they were about to set had been caused by an electrical wiring malfunction.

The fire had been planned for Saturday before dawn. But Derek’s unexpected appearance in her house had scared her badly enough for her to want to get it done as fast as possible.

While she waited for Meyers, she placed a call on her cell phone.

“Dawn,” she said. “Tomorrow. We’re not waiting.” She got the answer she expected, and hung up. The doorbell rang. Meyers had arrived. _It’s showtime_ , she thought.

And smiled.

* * *

_Dawn the next day_

It was not yet light out when Kate stopped at the gas station to fill up her gas can. She wanted to douse something with it—maybe the Alpha—and strike the match herself. She wanted _—needed—_ to watch one of the Hales go up in flames the good, old-fashioned way, by her own hand. Maybe it was foolhardy to expose herself like that, but after the fire, she would be long gone.

She did take the precaution of going into the minimart to pay for the fuel with cash, rather than paying at the pump with her card. The man behind the counter was on his cell phone and he looked pissed off.

“I told you, I get paid next week,” he said impatiently. “Jeez, Melissa, I get fired, and you complain. I get a job and you complain.” He listened a moment. “Scott doesn’t even need that damn inhaler,” he went on. He saw Kate. “I gotta go. I have a customer.”

He hung up.

Just another fine specimen of manhood, Kate thought. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be married to someone like this guy?

“Hey, McCall,” a man said. “I’ll get that. Some guy’s having problems with the car wash again. Go check it.”  
McCall made a face and muttered, “Why do I have to do it?” but came around the counter and went out the front door in disgust. The man turned to Kate, looked her up, looked her down. He was wearing a white shirt with Alan Seber engraved on a cheap plastic nameplate.

She put down thirty bucks and Alan Seber got her change. Then she hustled into her car and took off.

Kate Argent hustled into her car and took off. Her pulse began to race, her heart to pound. She couldn’t wait to see that house go up.

As she punched on some bouncy music, she replayed some of the finer moments of the crazy, no-holds-barred sex she and Derek had had. She couldn’t deny she’d miss that. No one knew she’d slept with the enemy. They’d be shocked and revolted if they found out. But she loved the danger. Derek had been a virgin, and a werewolf going through puberty, and she’d seduced him and taunted and lured him to do a full shift. He never had. Impressive.

There were sixty ways she could have ended up dead—except for the Taser she kept under her pillow. And the weapons she’d hidden all over her house—under the couch, in the kitchen, and the bathroom. The risk had been huge. But that was what had made the sex so fantastic.

Kate looked down at the ring he had given her. Her lips twitched, and then she began to laugh. She laughed all the way to the Hale homestead.

The killing fields.

* * *

 

_Present_

Derek doesn’t like to think back to the fire, because when he does, it leaves him with a hollow, gnawing feeling. Sometimes, if he smells smoke from a barbecue or someone’s fireplace, it puts him back in the moment where he had to watch the burned bodies of his family members - wolf-born and human - being taken out of the house in black body bags. He can still smell burned flesh and coagulating blood.

The official cause was an electrical issue though Derek was sure someone had to have realised it was homicide. With a supposed electrical issue as the cause of the fire, then the house records would have been looked into. Any electrical work that was done between the time the house was first built up until it burned down, especially since building codes would have changed over the years.

He has his theories, namely that Kate had paid someone off to interfere with the investigation in a way that no one could detect. He wouldn't put it past her. The town of Beacon Hills had been writing off deaths caused by werewolves as mountain lion attacks for so long that it had become a bit of a joke when he was in high school if someone thought they saw a wolf and tried telling someone.

Derek hadn't been around after the fire. He didn't want to see if they tore the house down or what happened, and so he didn't know if there was any further investigation. All he knew was what was told to him months later when insurance money kicked in. The remaining family members (Derek and his sisters, mostly) were given the insurance money and with it came the investigation report. It mentioned possible arson. Whomever wrote up the report did not elaborate. It seemed that only Derek knew that Kate Argent was to blame, and she wasn't stupid - she had covered her tracks well.

Sometimes it all comes back. The fire, the betrayal of his first (and only) love haunts him in his dreams for weeks on end before disappearing completely for months. When they come back, Derek fights the urge to sleep to try and keep the nightmares at bay.

Wolf or not, exhaustion always comes and when his body shuts down, forcing him to sleep, he is thankful to be exhausted past the point of dreaming. His body just wants rest. It isn't healthy to keep going without sleep and he knows this, but sometimes he just can't face being trapped in nightmares.

It never works. The memories are there to greet him in the morning. He used to think that that time would heal all wounds, as the saying goes, but it never does. The loss of his family, the memory of the fire, still hurts to this very day. He doesn’t visit the cemetery even though he knows he should. He used to, but not anymore. Kate showed up once when he was putting down flowers, coming up behind him and taunting in a low voice. It had made him feel as if he wasn't even safe to grieve and he stopped going. He wasn't sure if his sisters ever visited the cemetery, but if they had then they never asked him to come with.

Derek knew who was responsible for setting the fire, he just couldn't give his proof up to the police without outing himself and his remaining family members as werewolves. He couldn’t put everyone else at risk and so he stayed quiet and Kate Argent, the cause of the fire, walked a free woman.

It frustrates him to no end knowing that he has to guard this secret, take it to his grave. As if to dig the figurative knife deeper into his back, sometimes Kate would resurface and taunt Derek. It's tiring and got old quickly but still never fails to get a rise out of him. He stopped showing his anger but she has to know it's killing him inside, or she would've grown bored and moved on. He doubts she will stop until he helps her finish what she started - by killing himself or doing something to get himself killed. He would do neither.

The part that doesn't make sense is that ever since he settled into living in seclusion, things had been silent. It was as if Kate had dropped off of the face of the earth. He knows hunters, and one as good as Kate could find him if she really wanted to - in terms of skill she wasn’t a terrible hunter, her whole family were hunters and probably some of the best in the country. Still, he likes to think that he is safe where he is.

 

The idea to live in a cabin as opposed to an apartment somewhere is a decision Derek made shortly after the fire. He wasn't ready for the negative publicity that came with losing his entire family, nor was he ready for the whispers and the stares. He could hear the things people were saying, no matter how subtle they thought they were being. Eventually it became too much, on top of also dealing with his own grief, so it made sense to get away.

For a while Derek lived with his sister, but when she left for New York City Derek stayed behind, using the money he inherited at 18 to buy the land surrounding his home. He's always had the intent to build on it, except now he's 27 and still hasn't gotten around to that.

It doesn’t matter - the four room cabin is simple enough, and it isn’t as if Derek needs much. It provides the necessities: a bedroom large enough for a king-size bed (he starfishes when he finally gets a restful sleep) and a dresser, a bathroom that has a bathtub and shower combination, an outdated kitchen, and the main room just off of the front door houses a couch and a love seat with a worn armchair.

Derek never uses the fireplace in the main room, though sometimes he chops wood for exercise. It just piles up against the side of the cabin and sometimes he drops it off at neighbouring houses or sells it to a lumber company just outside of Beacon Hills.

 

* * *

 

_One month later…_

The idea that he and Stiles might have some kind of connection comes when Derek finds himself missing him, completely out of the blue. It happens on a Wednesday, the day that he usually goes to the gas station to do his shopping. He’s managed to stretch out his food the last few days and doesn’t actually need anything, so there’s no reason to drive out there. Normally he tries not to keep more than a few days worth of food at home, just in case he needs to leave quickly; it’s less to take with, less of a trail to leave behind. Ever since Derek settled here, he has had the feeling that one day he might have to run, and even though Kate hasn’t shown herself in some time, Derek still feels like he has to be ready.

Just in case.

So when he notices that it’s a quarter after two in the morning, he thinks about Stiles and how bored he always looks when Derek comes in. The look goes away once Derek starts his shopping and he’s never asked if Stiles gets many customers at night. _Probably not._ They talk a bit but not enough to really get to know one another and Derek suddenly thinks of how that could change. _Should_ change.

It’s a bit of a surprise to find himself wanting to get to know someone - he hasn’t allowed himself to get close to anyone ever since Kate Argent. He doesn’t want to risk it and at the same time, he doesn’t think he deserves to know someone that close again.

The last time he did, it came at such a great cost.

 

Derek is good at many things and one of them is talking himself down from almost anything. He considers whatever this feeling is towards Stiles to be a stupid and potentially dangerous situation. He doesn’t know a lot about Stiles and even though he wants to, it isn’t worth the risk. He’s kept to himself so long for a reason and letting someone in - especially someone like Stiles, who apparently could find out any information about anyone with just the internet - it's not safe, and he continues to tell himself that as 2am turns into 3am. Finally he just throws down his cellphone and stops watching the time.

It was stupid to stare at his phone, spending an hour of his night trying to weigh the pros and cons when he knew he was too negative. The cons would always win out. Safety would always come first, and so he goes to bed, trying to think of anything else each time Stiles enters his thoughts.

When he needs to do his shopping next, he thinks about changing the nights he goes in to Tuesdays and Thursdays, when Stiles isn’t working. Or better yet - he thinks about going into town during the day. If Stiles works nights then the chances of Derek running into him in the late morning or early afternoon are pretty damn slim.

He is sure of it.

Well, sure enough.

 

* * *

 

For the next two weeks Derek does his shopping in town during the day, figuring that he wouldn’t run into Stiles. It’s silly to be avoiding the store when Stiles works nights, not during the day, but Derek feels better doing his shopping in town, without the threat of running into him and dealing with that awkward moment.

It’s worse when Derek realises he doesn’t really know the guy’s name. It said ‘Stiles’ on his name tag but that could be a nickname for all he knows. Still, he doesn’t expect to run into Stiles at the grocery store but when he hears that voice, and then another male voice saying that name - not a nickname, he realises - Derek freezes, a container of mustard in one hand and his grocery basket in the other hand.

His feet don’t follow his brain, which is telling him to _move now_ so he just stands there like an idiot while Stiles and the other man come around the corner and pause at the entrance to the aisle Derek is in. Rather, Stiles pauses causing the man to bump into him, cursing softly.

“Dad, maybe we should go hit the deli first,” Stiles begins, but his dad looks up at Derek, the only other person in the condiments aisle, then looks back at his son. Derek recognises the Sheriff at the same time as he does Stiles and it's like the world decided to shit on him twice in one moment.

“We need mustard,” the Sheriff insists. He marches right over to Derek and offers a friendly smile before reaching for the mustard on the shelf, picking two bottles out - one honey, one regular - and bringing them back to Stiles, dropping them into the bag. He rests his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing gently and lowering his voice. Derek can still hear what he says.

“Whatever is going on with you and Derek Hale, I don’t want to know, but avoiding your problems won’t help solve them,” he tells Stiles, patting his shoulder before heading off towards the deli, leaving Stiles behind.

Derek looks away then, dropping the mustard into his basket. He's about to leave when Stiles is there, touching his elbow.

“I still have your container,” Stiles tells him. “Not with me right now, I brought it into work the last few times I was in but I guess I missed you.”

“I’ve been busy,” Derek tells him, even though that’s a lie. He’s been busy avoiding Stiles and doing his shopping in town, which clearly is a bad idea.

Stiles doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t push it. “I get it, you’re cheating on the shitty gas station store with the grocery store.”

It takes Derek a few moments to realise Stiles is joking, and also following him as he’s making his way towards the other end of the aisle, towards the checkout lines. “It’s just easier.”

“Easier,” Stiles echoes and he doesn’t look convinced at all. “I know where you live, which is creepy, yeah, but I was going to return your wallet if you didn’t come back for it, so I kind of ran Google Maps on your address.”

When Derek says nothing, Stiles persists. “You haven’t lived in Beacon Hills since the fire,” he adds, though his tone is soft now, no longer teasing. “Then you disappeared until you bought property a few years ago - the house you live in just outside of town.”

Derek can’t help but feel threatened with Stiles bringing up his past, the part of his past that haunts him every day. “Don’t worry about the tupperware,” Derek tells him, stepping around Stiles to move up to the counter, starting to put the items in his basket onto the conveyer belt.

“Okay, but are you going to keep avoiding the store for whatever reason? And don’t say you’re not because you had this _look_ that night and then just never came back. I know when someone’s avoiding me because I played that same card all through high school to get away from teachers when I was skipping class.”

“Why is it so important to you that I come back?” Derek finally asks, turning to look at Stiles.

Stiles seems to be caught off-guard by the question, looking unsure at first before finally seeming to find the words. “I don’t know, it’s just _weird_. You do something nice then you start acting weird. It’s like you’re afraid of being nice or something.”

 _No_ , Derek thinks to himself. _I’m afraid of what being nice to you does to me._

When Derek just stares and doesn’t answer, Stiles looks frustrated and holds up his hands. “Okay, whatever. I’m not going to stand here and argue with you in the check-out line. If you want to drive this far to do your shopping, go for it. But you can at least admit you’re acting weird for no reason.”

When Derek stays silent, unsure of what to say, Stiles huffs his exasperation and just leaves him standing there like an idiot. He doesn’t go back to his dad but leaves the store, storming across the parking lot and getting into a powder-blue Jeep. Derek watches him through the front windows of the store and sees Stiles fiddling around with something before leaning back in the driver’s seat. Derek imagines that he’s blasting music to try and calm down because he knows Stiles’ dad is still in the store somewhere - Derek didn’t see him go through the check-out yet.

He pays for his groceries and bags them himself before leaving the grocery store. It isn’t until he is almost halfway to his car that he notices Stiles parked opposite of him. He curses inwardly and tries to keep his eyes straight ahead as he walks the rest of the way to his car, popping the trunk with the button on his key fob and busying himself with re-arranging a few things before putting his bags into the trunk.

When he closes it he can feel himself being stared at and he looks up, his eyes meeting Stiles’ over the hood of the Camaro. From inside of the Jeep, Stiles is glaring daggers at him. Derek just sighs inwardly, getting into the Camaro and pulling out of the parking lot so quickly he’s surprised he doesn’t hit anyone.

When he’s back on the highway he turns on the radio. The song “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies comes on. It's at the chorus, and Derek isn't sure why, but it makes him think of Stiles, like it is the kind of song he might blare while driving with the windows down or something.

 _It's been one week since you looked at me_  
Cocked your head to the side and said "I'm angry"  
Five days since you laughed at me saying  
"Get that together come back and see me"  
Three days since the living room  
I realized it's all my fault, but couldn't tell you  
Yesterday you'd forgiven me  
but it'll still be two days till I say I'm sorry

He punches the radio button in frustration to turn it off, driving in silence the rest of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to Eczilon and geckoholic for the quick beta work. This chapter is dedicated to [my girlfriend](https://twitter.com/thiscanbegin).
> 
> Also, regarding the Hale fire: I’ve only watched flashback scenes to it once - when they aired - as I’ve been through a near-fatal house fire myself as a child and it is extremely triggering for me to watch. I wrote what I did based off of memory of the scenes from past episodes, because I could not go back and re-watch. 
> 
> Part of the flashback is from _Teen Wolf: On Fire_ (I don’t take credit for this). I believe the fire happened around 2005, but I could be off (going by the show starting in 2011, feel free to correct).


	3. this was not the way i planned it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek would make the worst stealth assassin, and an even worse stalker. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Derek doesn’t see Stiles until a few weeks later. He’s good at avoidance and he’s pretty sure that Stiles won’t miss him after what happened at the grocery store. Derek still thinks about that day and all of the things he could have - should have - said differently._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and edited previous chapters with the character's name in brackets to further clarify POV. That should cease any confusion.
> 
> This chapter is short - my apologies. It's in Derek's POV, and I keep shifting between the two and I can't seem to help myself. I wanted to get this out before I started on the best part, so hopefully this tides you guys over. (Also: looking for a beta, see end notes!)

** (Derek.) **

 

Derek doesn’t see Stiles until a few weeks later. He’s good at avoidance and he’s pretty sure that Stiles  won’t miss  him after what happened at the grocery store. Derek still thinks about that day and all of the things he could have - should have - said differently.

 

He goes so far as to find a copy of that damn song (“One Week” - Barenaked Ladies) that has come on the radio so he can listen to it on repeat like a teenager with a crush, reminding himself that he has screwed up without even trying. Torturing himself is an easy thing to do, especially when he uses anger as his anchor.

 

The next full moon came shortly  after the grocery store incident is the next time Derek sees Stiles. He prefers to run in the woods near his cabin, rather than the Beacon Hills wild life preserve, mostly so he can avoid the pull of his family home. What remains of it, anyway. He tries and yet, every full moon he is out there, running until his lungs burn and whatever anger he has melts away into the ache of over-exerted muscles and lungs that feel ready to collapse.

 

The anger never stays away for long. He finds the ruins of his family home and that is when he shifts, howling mournfully. Sometimes he goes inside and lays down in what is left of his bedroom and other times he simply stalks the area, looking for signs that someone may have been trespassing.

 

The remains of the house no longer  belong to him or his family - the county took over both the house and the land some time ago. Derek figures that the foot prints and the different scents he finds around the house belong to whomever was sent out to check the state of the house. Maybe they plan on tearing it down or rebuilding, he isn’t sure and he doesn’t think to ask.

 

A twig snaps behind Derek, reminding him that there could still be hunters residing in Beacon Hills so he continues his run. For reasons he cannot explain, he finds himself in front of a house that has Stiles’ Jeep parked out front. He creeps around until he’s at the only window with a light on. As someone moves near the window, he slips back into the shadows by the tree just outside, watching.

 

It’s Stiles, Derek realises, watching as he seems to be talking animatedly on the phone. The window is open, but Derek doesn’t need that to overhear the conversation.

 

_It’s been three weeks Scott - I practically lost it like a clingy girlfriend and everyone saw._

 

Stiles seems to pause as he listens to the voice on the other end of the phone and he runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up more.

 

_Okay, exaggeration - not_ _everyone_ _. But my dad was there, some kids from school were buying party cups, trust me, people heard and people saw. People are gonna think I’ve a boner for Derek freakin’ Hale! I’m a worse liar than you are, I’m not gonna just be able to say---_

 

The conversation stops abruptly.  At firs tDerek doesn’t know why  until he realises he’s moved not only out of the  shadows  but up the freaking tree. Stiles must’ve heard the branch that Derek snapped with his foot. He can feel the jagged bit of tree where the branch was and there’s no shadows for him to hide in.

 

Stiles moves to  the  window, looking out with the phone  still to his ear and he looks equal parts spooked and at the same time, a bit dazed.

 

When Stiles ends the call and pushes the window open further, Derek doesn’t hesitate before climbing into Stiles’ bedroom, partially shifted and feeling Stiles’ eyes on him all the way until he’s standing straight. He only has his jeans on and his bare feet are muddy. His boots and teeshirt are back on his front porch; they make it too difficult to shift.

 

 

Derek can’t read Stiles’ mind but he can imagine the questions going through it. He seems entirely too calm which _could_ be the lead up to a freak out, Derek doesn’t know Stiles well enough yet to see how he handles things that are in the realm of _can’t possibly be real_.

 

Still - a full moon and a human, half-transformed into something else hanging outside of one’s window is out of a horror movie. Maybe Stiles is just in shock.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Stiles says, cutting through Derek’s thoughts and pacing. Derek has moved to Stiles’ desk chair, having sat down because he didn’t want to seem threatening. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat, the nervous flutters it gave off and even though they were close to the same height, he doesn’t want to seem like he is looming over Stiles.

 

“What is this?” Stiles finally asks. Somewhere in his pacing he picks up a baseball bat, holding onto it as if he might take a swing and then putting it back down just as quickly. He does this with a few things: a Swiss army knife, a large Mag-Lite and even a pen. None would be effective against a werewolf, but Derek doesn’t tell him that.

 

“What the hell _are you_?” Stiles elaborates, ceasing his pacing and standing in front of Derek. “You’ve.. Fangs? Canines? Vampires don’t have those eyes, or fur - it’s a freakin’ full moon so either you’re some sort of weird thing that is a hybrid creature? Something Hollwood hasn’t come up with or you’re a werewolf.”

 

Stiles’ tone almost is pleading now, and Derek answers softly, calmly. “I’m a werewolf.”

 

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles echoes, and Derek nods. He doesn’t know what else to do or say, even though he knows Stiles and silence don’t seem to get along.

 

Stiles fills in the silence rather quickly. “And you’ve always been a werewolf? Like, you were born one?”

 

Derek nods again, and he’s starting to feel like those tacky bobbleheads. “I wasn’t born in a wolf-form, but I’m wolf-born,” he corrects, watching Stiles pace. Derek can hear Stiles’ heart rate as it spikes then settles into a rapid beat. He wonders if the kid is anxious, but there’s a pill bottle Derek spied on the desk, with a prescription for Adderall. He figures that must be what’s messing with Stiles’ heart, because he has noticed the same heart beat when Stiles was working at the gas station, just without the taste of panic.

 

Stiles ceases his pacing then, arms crossed but he’s chewing on one thumb, the cuticle and then the nail itself before he pulls his hand away. “Are you stalking me?” he asks finally and it takes everything for Derek to not laugh.

 

“I don’t know why I came here,” Derek admits. “I was out for a run and I just found myself here.”

 

Stiles glances outside again and then his eyes widen. “It’s the full moon,” he says, as if only realising this now.

 

“It is,” Derek murmurs.

 

“And you’re not here to maim me or bite me? I know where my dad keeps his guns---”

 

Derek gets up then, hating how Stiles immediately takes a few steps back to keep Derek at more than arms length. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells Stiles, but he doesn’t make any move to come closer. He doesn’t add that the bullets in the Sheriff’s gun likely wouldn’t hurt him at all - it’s best not to make him feel entirely defenseless.

 

 

 

 

He’s about to say something when he hears the door downstairs, seconds before Stiles notices. Stiles beats him to it with his eyes widening. “Oh shit, my _dad_!”

 

Derek’s at the window in seconds, ready to climb out when Stiles catches him by the belt-loop, tugging him back inside.

 

“Hell no. You owe me answers, you’re not leaving,” Stiles hisses, and Derek’s about to point out that he doubts the Sheriff  would take kindly to finding him half-naked in his son's bedroom  when Stiles gives him another tug into the room  and  then pushes him towards the bed. There’s a space between it and the wall and he motions for Derek go there. “Get down,” Stiles mouthes to him.

 

Stiles has just enough time to get into bed and turn the lamp off when the door opens, casting a sliver of hallway light across the room and the bed and Derek presses himself closer to the floor, hoping he cannot be seen.

 

Derek can hear the Sheriff’s breath hitch, as if he were about to say something but instead he closes the door and Stiles breaths an audible sigh of relief.

 

“Don’t get up,” Stiles whispers, shifting in bed and Derek imagines he’s rolling over onto his back. “He washes up before bed, so we have a half hour or so before I can put my light back on.”

 

Derek doesn’t know if he’s allowed to speak now so he just keeps quiet and still. The silence lasts, though he can feel the tenseness in the air and Stiles keeps fidgeting in bed. They wait the full half hour and then a few more minutes extra. 

 

Derek can hear the house growing silent as the Sheriff  settles into bed, but he doesn’t tell Stiles that. He waits until Stiles reaches over the side of the bed and taps his shoulder before he gets up and moves to sit at the edge of the bed. 

 

Derek watches Stiles, waiting for the questions that never come and so finally, he’s the one to break it. “I come back here sometimes to run in the preserve,” Derek offers. “My family’s home is there. I guess I followed your scent, that’s how I found out where you live.”

 

Stiles draws his k nees up and rests his arms on them. “It doesn’t make sense,” he murmurs and Derek silently agrees. “We don’t even know each other , and for some reason there’s this thing where I can’t stop thinking about you.”

 

“I know,” Derek cuts in, and he meets Stiles’ eyes when the guy looks up. “I heard your phone call.”

 

“To Scott,” Stiles murmurs. “He’s my best friend, I tell him everything.”

 

Derek gets up then. He can’t sit here the whole night and now that the Sheriff’s asleep, he can leave without being caught. He pauses as he comes around to the other side of the bed, looking at Stiles who is watching him. Derek no longer senses panic coming from him.

 

“Do you still work at the gas station?” he asks carefully.

 

It earns a laugh from Stiles. “Yeah, I’ll probably be there until I’m old or they fire me, whichever happens first.”

 

“I’ll see you on your next shift,” Derek promises - pun not intended - and he’s out the window and running before Stiles can say another word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to suggest any missing tags and also:
> 
>  ~~ **ETA; I broke my hand April 1st, 2014 - not a joke - so I cannot type for the next 6 weeks. It's too difficult doing it one-handed so rather than frustrate myself, I'm focusing on healing. Be back soon!**~~ HEALED!
> 
> # ON HIATUS: mom has cancer.

**Author's Note:**

> # ON HIATUS: mom has cancer.
> 
> I picked this prompt up [here](http://promptsforteenwolf.tumblr.com/post/55423290112), and while I’m pretty sure the whole mountain man bit is a US thing, I’m using the definition I found online. Don’t laugh at my ignorance; mistakes or misconstruing the prompt is the fault of my Canadian-ness ;D
> 
> As for Derek’s stint on the lacrosse team, I’m not sure if that’s something he did; all I can confirm was that he was swimming around the time that he met Kate Argent if Teen Wolf: On Fire is to be believed. I forget what he might’ve been involved in during the flashback episode. Oops.


End file.
